Devil in the Details
by watergurl123
Summary: Rory and Jess form a twisted relationship, straddling the line between friends and lovers. Literati.


**This is probably my first story in over a year. I'm not going to give any details about it right away, hopefully if I did a decent job, you'll be able to decipher everything from the text. Anyway I really hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if you have any questions or criticism in a review!**

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights or characters of Gilmore Girls

**Chapter One: "The future's got me worried such awful thoughts..."**

I walked up the steps leading to the apartment, skipping the third one from the bottom. I'd had increasingly bad luck with that step, the result of poor genetics inherited from my mother I had assumed. The Gilmore's were never one for stunts. I'd tripped over it at least seven times, the bulk of the incidents occurring between the ages of eight and nine. My feet had grown awkwardly larger the year I turned nine, along with my legs. Gangly and long, with thin untoned muscles wrapped around my bones, my knees often jutted out in an uncoordinated way. This flaw in physique, the awkwardness of development, and my aforementioned genetics made for a bad combination.

The eighth time I tripped had been my breaking point. I'd tumbled forward, slamming my elbows onto the steps above, while scraping my knees on the rough splintered wood below. I was done, I decided in my overly dramatic pre-teen mind. I would just sit down on the floor until somebody carried me up the goddamn steps (This phase also included a secret pleasure in discovering 'bad' words, somehow feeling tough if I repeated them in my head).

So there I sat, the perfect picture of adolescent anger, with my chin jutted out and lip pouting, angry and humiliated tears teetering on my eyelashes. Little spots of blood appeared on my damaged elbows and knees. I scrunched my nose and grimaced as I gently touched each cut, assessing the damage, hissing at the pain. I pulled my knees to my chest, securely wrapping my arms around my legs. I was determined. Luke would find me eventually.

I had my head tilted down to my knees, but I could hear the soft rustle of the plastic curtain as it was pushed aside. I smiled triumphantly to myself, I knew it was only a matter of time. But as I looked up to give Luke my best doe eyed expression I was surprised to see someone else in the doorway.

He looked to be about my age, maybe a year older. Even sitting on the ground I could tell he was a little short for a boy of his age. All the other boys in my class at school were at least four inches taller than him. His hair was a short mass of curls, but in the light it appeared to be almost the color of coal. His body was average, not particularly stocky or muscled, but not extremely thin either.

The clothes he wore seemed a little odd. They weren't new and trendy but they weren't old and out-dated either, they seemed more like hand-me-downs. His shirt hung a little off his shoulders, hiding his frame, while his pants folded over themselves at the cuff, a little too long for his short stature.

'Maybe he shops at a thrift store', I had thought to myself as I looked over his attire. From the age of five my mother and I had become casual shoppers at our local thrift store. Even with her job at the Independence Inn, there were patches when money became tight and she had to scrape all our resources together. I never really minded until the year I started fifth grade. People started giving me odd looks that always made me feel uncomfortable, like there was something wrong or different about me. When I came home on the last day of my first week, I finally told my mom. I'd seen a tear well in the corner of her left eye, but she had quickly turned her head and wiped it.

I'd immediately felt ashamed of myself. I hated seeing my mother cry, especially over me. I told her it was fine, that I didn't need new clothes, because I knew she needed the money for more important things.

As she had turned her head back to look at me, there was a sad and thoughtful expression in her eyes. She smiled at me, as two tears rolled down her cheeks. She slowly shook her head as she said to me, "No sweetie, you're the most important thing."

I didn't argue the next day when she took me to the mall. She insisted I pick out at least three pairs of new jeans and four new shirts. I'd checked every price tag, making sure to pick the cheapest I could find. I gave her the biggest most enthusiastic smile I could manage at the checkout line. She smiled back at me, but as she watched the items move along the conveyer, I noticed that same expression in her eyes.

I smiled to myself as I thought that maybe this boy was like me, maybe his family didn't have much money either.

My musing at an end, I continued to stare up at him. He was looking at my face, probably noticing the tears I still hadn't bothered to wipe away.

"You're bleeding." He said simply, gently motioning to my elbows.

"Oh, I know." I said looking down and releasing my legs. "My knees too…I fell." I felt a small blush on my cheeks, but knew I was hidden well in the soft light of the bulb above me.

He nodded and then took a small step forward. As he passed under the light I realized his hair wasn't black but a very deep brown. He had a green duffel bag on his shoulder, causing his whole body to tilt under the weight. "Why are you on the ground?"

"I…don't know." I said while biting my lip. "I keep tripping over the same step and I just…gave up…I guess." Once my explanation was out in the open I felt like a complete moron. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

"Which one?" He asked curiously as he dropped his bag on the ground and came to stand in front of the staircase, barely glancing at me.

"The third one." I said quietly as he examined them. He reached out and touched it, looking carefully at it for about a minute.

"It needs new nails." He said with finality. "See? The top…it's uh…coming off a little." He said while showing me that he could easily wedge his finger under the lip of the stair. Sure enough it lifted about half an inch, the nails wiggling loosely in their holes. "You probably just keep catching your foot on it when you step up."

He dropped his hand off the step and slowly slid them into the pocket of his jeans.

"That's good, I think." I said with a furrowed brow. At least it meant I wasn't a total klutz. "I thought I just had bad genes. I should probably tell Luke about the step." I mumbled the last part to myself, glad to finally have an answer to my unusual clumsiness.

Sensing that our conversation was at an end, he turned and picked his bag off the ground, slung it over his shoulder, and preceded to start up the stairs, being careful to step over number three.

I watched him in confusion. Where did he think he was going? He disappeared down the hallway and I finally stood up, brushing the dust and dirt off of my shorts. I walked up the stairs, successfully this time, and opened the door to Luke's apartment.

There he was, standing over his…raft? At least that's what it appeared to be. I guess it would have constituted as a bed but I would have much rather had it if I were lost at sea.

He turned around at the sound of my entrance and looked taken aback. As he opened his mouth to speak I blurted out the first thing in my mind.

"What are you doing up here?"

"I live here." He said in an irritated tone. "At least for now."

"No you don't. Luke lives here, by himself. He has for years." I matched his tone, adding my own little twist, a look I liked to call 'my withering stare.'

"Well, you keep telling yourself that. I need to unpack." He rolled his eyes as he turned back to his bag, piling clothes onto the raft/bed.

I set my jaw, my teeth clicking together. I crossed my arms, and cocked my hip, trying to mirror the stance I'd seen my mother use when dealing with impossible guests at the inn.

I'd think of something to say, something really scathing…any minute now.

I balled my fists tightly, frustrated at my lack of comebacks. I finally let out a frustrated breath before stomping to the door. As I was about to walk through, I grabbed the frame, swung around and shouted, "Yeah, well…we'll see about that!"

Six years later, I smiled to myself as I now reached that same hallway. We never did tell Luke about that damn step.

I stopped at the apartment door, slowly twisting the handle.

'Well, it's really more of an oversized closet, especially now,' I thought with a giggle as I look around at all the piles of clothing and random miscellaneous.

I maneuvered my way through the junk, finally coming to stand beside a twin size bed set on the right side of the room. I bite my lip and smile as I look at the lump gently rising and falling in the center of it.

'Well, it's an upgrade from the raft.' I push my hair behind my right ear as I bend down to the bed's level. "Jess?" I whisper softly.

The lump gives a little twitch. I smile even wider.

"Jess." I say at a normal volume. I sneak a hand out and quickly pull the comforter back to reveal the top half of a head and a clump of dark hair. I can only see his forehead, eyes, and the bridge of his nose.

His eyes squint hard, making creases along the outer edges, and his forehead wrinkles.

I lift my hand up to push the hair back from his forehead, running my fingers completely through it. Once it's away from his face, I drop my hand.

"Come on, get up. I know you can hear me. Luke wants you downstairs." I watch as his features relax back to their original state. I bite my lip, again, this time in thought.

"Ok." I softly walk around to the other side of the bed, then stop, facing his back. "I guess I'm just going to have to take a seat and wait." His shoulders stiffen lightly and I can't suppress the smirk on my face.

I suddenly jump, twisting my body to land on top of his waist, above his hips. But before I can connect, he turns fully, my butt glancing off of him and landing softly on the mattress. My head dangles off the left side of the bed, while my feet dangle off the right, leaving my splayed across his stomach.

I can feel my body shake lightly with his laughter. I struggle to pull my upper body back onto the bed, while swinging my legs around (sit-ups weren't really my thing).

When I finally situate myself on the bed, we are laying side by side. He's on my right, slightly elevating himself with his elbow to turn in my direction. I'm lying on my back, my head resting lightly on the headboard.

He's smirking slyly at me. I narrow my eyes at him, which only makes his amusement grow. "One of these times you're actually going to hurt yourself."

"Oh, have you forgotten? I already have." I say bitingly, but in good humor. Back when we were about fourteen, I had tried the old cold water trick. The result ended in me slipping on a puddle I had spilled on the floor, a twisted ankle, and a lifetime of mocking from Jess (who incidentally, didn't have one speck of water on him).

"Does your ankle still make that disgusting cracking noise?"

"Every now and then." I say with a shrug. I twist my left ankle in slow circles. "Not today though."

Jess pulls his right arm slowly out of the covers, pushing them down to his waist. From my higher position, I can see he's only wearing his boxers and gray sweatpants, as usual.

He rotates, now flush against my right side, with his head resting against my shoulder. His left arm eases underneath my back while the right comes to rest against my left hipbone.

I lean my head to the right, gently resting it on top of his. I keep both my hands limply at my sides.

"You weren't at the diner yesterday when I got here." I know he's looking up at me, because I can feel his eyelashes as they travel up my skin.

"Jess, didn't you get here around midnight?" I say incredulously.

"Irrelevant." He says while lifting the fingers on my hipbone, a mediocre wave.

I roll my eyes.

My shirt had drifted upwards from all the shifting I'd done earlier, exposing a quarter of my stomach. I looked out towards the window in the kitchen as I felt his hand drift lazily across the exposed skin, back and forth. He finally stopped, resting his palm inside the dip of my pelvis, his long fingers spreading around my side.

I feel as his eyes move down, his lashes brushing me again, but I can't tell whether he's looking down my shirt or down at his own hand. I figure it's one of the two.

I continue to look out the window and breathe very slowly as I feel his hand begin to push my shirt farther up, past my belly button, exposing nearly half of my stomach now. His fingers move up and down now instead of side to side. They trace slowly from my pants to the hem of my shirt, continuously tracing patterns, until he's burned a portrait across the entire expanse.

He slows his fingers now, bringing them to the space below my belly button, the top of my pelvic region. I feel his lips move against my neck, as he parts them. He does this one more time, seeming as if there's something he wants to say. I feel his tongue lightly, as he darts it out to wet them quickly. "Rory." It's all he says.

I know he can feel my throat constrict as I swallow and the muscles in my jaw work as I bite my cheek. He takes this as a silent confirmation.

His hand runs across the strip of skin, the tip of his pinky underneath my pants. My breathing is no longer controlled, coming out more shakily and uneven now. As his thumb lightly strokes my stomach, it involuntarily tenses in a primal kind of anticipation.

I feel his lips curl back slightly, obviously pleased by my reactions. His hand dips a half inch lower, but it's enough that I can now feel the nail on his pinky as it scrapes across the elastic of my underwear.

My breathing is becoming more erratic as my stomach continues to tense. My palms are warming slightly, but the only thing I can do is press the back of my hand against his stomach, considering the way he's formed to my side.

His hand slips lower, and now I realize his pinky has slipped underneath the elastic.

I bring my left hand up and gently touch his wrist. His movements stop but he doesn't remove his hand. I tug on it lightly, but he still doesn't move. I swallow hard.

"Jess, come on, stop playing around." I say in a whisper.

He lifts his head from my shoulder and looks directly at me, his eyes intensely serious. "Who's playing?" His voice is husky.

I look at him intently, using my expression to communicate my thoughts. He could always read my thoughts better than I could verbalize them.

He finally shifts his eyes away from my face, sighing quietly as he removes his hand. I smile at his profile sadly, even though his eyes aren't directed towards me, I know he can see.

I knew he wouldn't push me. Jess would never force his own desires to be mine. And it's not like I hadn't thought about it before. There'd been other occasions, other moments similar to this, that I'd wanted this as much as he had. But I knew it wouldn't happen, not this way at least.

I turn onto my side, facing him. He lay down on his back now, mirroring my former position. I leaned over and kissed the dip above each collarbone. I moved down and kissed him on the right side of his chest before letting my head rest there, with my lips pressed against him. He wrapped his arms around my back, pulling me to lie partially on top of him. With my face and lips still pressed against his chest, I inhaled the scent of his day old cologne and soap. I smiled. This was a smell I was very familiar with.

He unwraps one arm from me, lifting the covers, a silent invitation.

I scoot my legs up and then place them back under the covers, molding my left side to him, wiggling until I find the right fit. I place my arms around him.

He holds my back with his left arm, while his right hands slides from my shoulder, down to my elbow, and then back.

I close my eyes and relax, happy to be in such a familiar position. I can tell he's a little tense, by the way his callused hand is rubbing my arm, more of a stiff motion than his normal fluid ones.

I frown as I think about us.

Contrary to what you might be thinking right now, Jess and I are not dating.

The simple fact is, I've never had a boyfriend. Jess would be the closest thing in that department, and even that would be stretching it.

That day I met him in diner, I also met my best friend. Of course I didn't know it at the time, but I quickly came to realize it.

When I finally had 'seen about that' (as I so gracefully put it our first meeting), it turned out Jess did in fact live in the apartment. And when he said 'for now', that's exactly what he meant. Jess only came to live with his Uncle Luke every couple of months, usually in the summer or during winter break.

Jess Mariano was nine years old when his mother finally decided she'd found her calling: hand-made jewelry.

The place where she was to practice said 'calling': Renaissance fairs (it seemed perfectly logical in her mind).

Just after his tenth birthday, Liz had packed him up and sent him off for his only two months of summer vacation. Of course he'd been resentful, but at least his mom seemed to be more grounded. He wasn't in total shock, seeing as his mother had always been a little spacey when it came to matters of 'proper' child raising.

Rory became his only friend. They quickly bonded over their seemingly paralleled lives, both raised in a single parent household without a father, often rejected by their peers, and neither really knowing how to fit in.

As they grew older and started to develop their own unique characteristics, they found that their passions were, in most cases, very similar. Both discovered books around the ages of ten and eleven and they quickly fed their obsession off one another, often trading books whenever Jess would come for a visit. Their music tastes were almost exact, but of course everyone has their guilty pleasures, and every now and then one of them would discover the others, causing days of endless mocking.

But as many characteristics as they shared, they also differed. Most of the changes developed with time, a product of their opposite environments.

Rory could see the differences in Jess, almost immediately, every time he returned to Stars Hollow. Mostly they were subtle, but they were there.

More cynical, quieter, angrier, sadder, tired. _Always_ tired.

She always knew when it was the worst. The times when he would show up unexpectedly. Luke knew it too, but he never asked questions. Jess was always welcome there.

As much as they emotionally changed, their physical changes were just as drastic.

Neither resembled the awkward kid in the frumpy clothes any longer.

Around age twelve, Rory had begun to develop a more womanly shape. Her breasts formed, her legs gained a soft curve rather than the stark straightness of their former shape, and her face lost some of its baby fat. Her mother had also been promoted to a new position at the inn so she was able to afford much more 'in-style' clothing that fit properly. She quickly became the object of many middle school crushes.

After having known her for three years, Jess began to notice these changes. He'd come back to Stars Hollow for one to two months out of every summer, frequently visiting in between.

It was the summer after 6th grade when he first noticed. He was thirteen (the product of starting school a year late). He hadn't visited in over five months.

That had been the summer of their first kiss.

It happened as most first kisses do, awkward and innocent. They were sitting together on her porch swing, quietly talking about movies, when he quickly leaned in and pecked her on the lips. He had immediately pulled back, and looked down at his feet. She had blushed a deep crimson before shyly taking his hand.

They didn't kiss again until the next summer.

Jess was fourteen, she was thirteen. They were in her room, pouring over a massive pile of books on the floor. He had found a copy of Lolita on her nightstand. He cocked an eyebrow at her and smirked. "A little racy for you, isn't it?"

"No." She said indignantly while lifting her chin, though her cheeks betrayed her confidence. "It's not like I don't know what sex is Jess. And I'm very aware that pedophiles exist, the world is not as perfect as my little bubble."

He smiled as he watched her stutter over the 's' word. "So you know about sex, huh?"

"Y…yes." She said while swallowing. Something about his expression made her nervous. "I mean I don't…know know, like I've actually done it or anything, I just…stop making me flustered!" She growled out, her cheeks feeling as if they'd been set on fire.

"Why am I flustering you?" He asked calmly, while he slowly slid from his spot, some two feet away from her, directly to her side.

"Because…I don't know, you just keep looking at me! Go back to being my normal Jess, you know, surly and depressing?" She cried exasperatedly. She stopped talking as he began leaning towards her. Her hands were shaking.

This was different from their first kiss. Jess no longer seemed shy or hesitant.

And from the sudden sinking feeling Rory got in the bottom of her stomach, she knew Jess wasn't so innocent anymore.

She had cried after the first time that he had touched her breasts. It wasn't because of the actual act, that part she had enjoyed, immensely.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. None of it made any sense. You were supposed to be in a relationship before you did these kinds of things, they should have been planned, discussed, thought through.

She had cried for over an hour, huddled on her bed.

But she wouldn't stop it. She knew that much. Because even though it hurt to think about the time when he was gone, what he was doing, _who_ he was doing, when he was here she knew it was only her.

And here lay the unending problem. They both wanted something that was unrealistic and impossible to commit to.

He wanted so badly to say yes, I'm all in too, but he knew that once he went back to New York, and those five or six months dragged on without her, he would become restless. It killed him to know she so readily accepted their situation, as long as she could have some part of him.

Jess realized how unfair the situation was. For her to be so devoted to him, when he couldn't even guarantee her that he wouldn't fuck some girl out of boredom and loneliness. And what made it worse was her refusal to date. For six years, he'd never seen Rory pursue one guy, other than himself. He'd even suggested it, multiple times, but that always ended in him trying to calm down one extremely pissed off and upset girl.

Eventually he stopped trying to convince her, a cause he admitted was very easy to give up.

He was a selfish bastard. He told himself this almost everyday.

And so, this is the predicament they find themselves in. For the past three years, they'd played a game of incessant teasing.

What had started out with inexperienced hands and innocent touches now was defined by scorching caresses and stolen time. It was the summer before their senior year, he was seventeen and she sixteen.

They'd never actually done anything, honestly. All contact was mostly above clothing. Only in the past year had he convinced Rory to let him touch her stomach or parts of her legs, if she was wearing shorts.

I looked up at Jess, as I thought about the only stipulation that existed in our entire relationship.

'This is my saving grace,' I thought to myself sadly. I realized how low I was willing to place my own dignity and peace of mind for the sake of our relationship. But this was what I held onto, this was my last ounce of pride and self-respect.

Jess already had her heart, but she wasn't willing to let him have her body, not until it was right, the way it was supposed to be.

'Not until _we're_ right.' This was her one determination. And ever since their physical relationship began, she hadn't broken her promise.

"Jess?"

"Hmm?" He replied absentmindedly, his eyes closed.

"You'll…you'll always be my best friend right? Even if this…if we…" I couldn't finish the thought. The idea that we wouldn't always be _something_ was unfathomable.

He opened his eyes to look at me and slowly nodded his head. He couldn't promise me that. But this was enough.

"I'll never abandon you." He stated this firmly, and I knew it was true. Maybe we wouldn't always be friends but we would never desert one another.

I nodded my head against his chest, a reciprocation of his sentiment. His hand grew softer now against my arm, more relaxed, and I smiled.

"I'm sorry. I know this frustrates you, but I just…I can't…" I trailed off gesturing towards our entwined bodies.

He sighed. "I know. Honestly, I don't think I would want you to. You deserve," he cut himself off by pursing his lips.

"You." I finished quietly. He scoffed, shaking his head. "I want you. But not like this."

He tightened his arms around me, and kissed the top of my head.


End file.
